


The Performance of Miracles

by cloudsarefluffy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Derek Feels, Derek Has Feelings, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Derek is a Good Friend, Derek is a Softie, Derek is a sweetheart, Don't wanna spoil, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, FML, Family Feels, Fluff, Future Fic, Hopeful Ending, Kid Fic, M rating for a sex scene, M/M, Magic, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Stiles, POV Stiles, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Pining Derek, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Somewhat Slow Build?, Spells & Enchantments, Stiles Stilinski's Hair, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Time Loop, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, again you'll see, at least not in a certain sense, bc how can derek not appreciate that, bc how could i not, but it's a bit time lapsed in some ways, but not a future fic at the same time, but not really, but the longer cut okay like what an improvement, future fics am i right, magical time travel, more like adopted baby, obvsss, tagging for this is hard bc of the context in the story, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsarefluffy/pseuds/cloudsarefluffy
Summary: Stiles can feel it, his panic attack.He’s stiff now, breathing cut short and sharp as his knees suddenly give out from under him. But, before he can fall fully, Derek catches him, not looking that much better himself as they both process what Lydia just told them.2021.Fuckingten yearsinto the future.Written for Eternal Sterek Secret Santa 2017 for madzielightbanes!





	The Performance of Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I'm back at it again this Christmas season with some Sterek gift fic!
> 
> I got madzielightbanes as my giftee, and I just want to say, it was a delight to write this for you! I had a blast making this fic and getting to write something that I thought about for a while, and wasn't sure on. But with what you asked for, it presented the perfect opportunity to try it out!
> 
> Now, if the fic seems solid in some areas, and others it doesn't, it's because I had EXTREMELY sporadic writing between October and December with this fic. I had a lot going on personally--- especially since I got a job and started working in October. I've been very pressed for time and energy, and sadly, this fic took a bit longer than expected, and I wasn't always to keep myself in stride while writing it. So, if there's any issues with the quality at times, or the flow seems to break in a scene, it's because I had to walk away at whatever part, and pick it back up again x-amount of days later. Apologies.
> 
> Otherwise, I tried to write this as best I could with what you wanted, and outlined to my Anon messages on your Tumblr (which you were so very helpful!). I hope you like what I wrote for you!
> 
> I'm sorry that I wasn't able to finish it in time, but for now, here you are! <3
> 
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone!
> 
> Enjoy!~

One of the worst aspects of life is wondering how it could be different than what you’ve come to know, and live.

It’s those what if’s— the “what if I had done this differently,” the “what if I had said this,” and the “what if I had known what I know now.”

Stiles thinks about those questions every time he sees Scott’s decommissioned inhaler on his desk, seemingly innocent, but so accusatory for Stiles.

What if he hadn’t asked Scott to see that body that night? What if Stiles was the one who fought of Peter and got bitten instead? What if they found Scott’s inhaler before they found Derek?

There’s a lot of questions — a lot of things to picture differently — and Stiles can’t help it at moments like these, when he feels like he’s fucked everything up royally and beyond repair.

“— doesn’t know _anything!_ ” Derek snaps, eyes flashing red as he growls, and he kicks what was originally a coffee table, causing the charred wood to splinter and crack, crumbling like charcoal and just as black.

It’s Scott. Like always, now.

“You need to do _more,_ Stiles! He’s literally going to get himself _killed_ if he doesn’t back off of Allison!”

Stiles remembers where he is, but more importantly, who he’s with, and sighs, ignoring the way the alpha werewolf in his midst has blood welling up in his palms from his restrained claws, “You think I haven’t talked to Scott already? He doesn’t want to listen, especially when it comes to something you want, and what you want being that he completely forgets that Allison exists.”

Derek growls then, low and frustrated, “I have no idea why Peter saw anything in him that made him worthy of the bite—”

“ _Hey!”_ Stiles shouts, incredulous, as he stares at Derek, his own heated gaze met with Derek’s one of red ire, “I get that Scott can be a dumbass, and you have a right to be angry with him, but that doesn’t mean you can go around saying shit like that!”

The alpha looks on towards Stiles for a moment more before huffing irritably, and he goes to pick up what is left off the coffee table, just to chuck the rest of it outside. The walls of the house were seared apart by the fire, left gaping, where Derek aims. The remaining pieces of wood fall among the mossy trunks and foliage with hard landings, and Stiles glances between where the remnants disappear, and the tense settling of Derek’s shoulders.

“I don’t know why I’m bothering,” Derek gripes, voice hallow as Stiles listens, “No one here respects me. No one here wants me as their alpha. I’m just trying to order around rebellious teenagers who would rather think with their dicks than their brains. And that was even before the bite.”

Stiles scoffs, but not out of disagreement. 

He knows he hasn’t been the best either, but when you compare surviving whatever they encounter to having sex, Stiles is effortlessly able to work out which is the better option.

“I get that, I do. I’ve honestly been getting pretty irritated with everyone else, but you just kind of have to… I dunno, let it go? Well, not really let it go by ignoring it, but—”

“Stiles, out with it.”

“Sometimes, I just kind of think… think about what things would be like if they, well, weren’t like this.”

Derek turns then, his eyes narrowed but expression curious— his eyebrows are really telling in that way, Stiles has learned.

“Explain.”

Stiles takes a breath, and he leaves the battered wall he’d been leaning on to join Derek, and pick up one of the last remaining bits of the former coffee table, “I mean, I guess we all kind of do it. But, ever since sophomore year, when Scotty got bitten, I just— I can’t help but think… How could now be different if everything didn’t happen as it did?”

Derek watches as Stiles runs a few fingers down the scarred wood, silent and grimacing, but listening.

“I think to myself sometimes, what things would be like if Scott wasn’t bitten. If you knew about Peter sooner. If I’d gotten bitten instead… A lot of things. I guess I just do it when— when I feel bad about all this… when I start to blame myself.”

At that, the werewolf’s gaze softens, “Blame yourself?” Derek asks quietly.

Stiles laughs, but it’s quiet and a little bitter as he takes the coffee table’s leg and sets it down on one of the ashy countertops, “I’m not sure if Scott ever told you about how that night in the woods went to the fullest extent. I do know that he told you that we were out in the woods when Peter attacked us, and then Peter ended up biting him, but I’m sure he never mentioned why we were out in the woods in the first place. Whose idea it was to go out there.”

Without giving Derek a chance to reply, Stiles turns, voice hard as he explains everything.

“It was me. I asked Scott to tag along, to sneak out. There— there was a call over my dad’s radio. The code, it meant a body had been found. Perks of being the Sheriff’s kid, I guess,” Stiles laughs again, the sound still far from cheerful as Derek somberly eyes the human, “I don’t know why I wanted to go see it. That sort of stuff freaks me out. I mean, you know me, I can’t even handle the sight of needles. But, for some reason, I convinced myself I wanted to go see a dead body, of all things. Of course, I didn’t know that the animal attack they suspected was really your uncle, and that werewolves even existed, but I still should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have asked that of Scott— shouldn’t have decided to go out into the woods at all that night… But I did, and now, here we are.”

When Stiles looks at Derek again, his lips are pressed into a fine line, and he seems unsure for a moment of what to really say or do before he finally speaks.

“I— I sometimes wonder that too… If I had known about Kate… Before the fire,” and it’s Stiles’ turn to quiet as the alpha continues, “I could’ve saved my family and most of the pack. I could’ve gotten Chris to stop her and Gerard before so many died… But I don’t know if such a thing is possible.”

And when their gazes meet, Stiles sees it then— that _understanding._

Maybe it’s why Stiles and Derek get along with each other the best out of the pack. Maybe it’s why Derek confides in Stiles, and Stiles in Derek. 

Maybe… it’s always a maybe, isn’t it?

“Neither do I.”

But, with that, Stiles is certain.

**-xXx-**

Stiles heads home shortly thereafter, his and Derek’s conversation having fizzled out not too long afterwards. They remained in a companionable silence as they picked up the rest of the debris from Derek’s Scott-induced rage, until it was time for Stiles to go.

It all leaves Stiles unusually quiet, and with sooty fingertips and nailbeds, as he drives home in Roscoe. 

He’s just about to leave the Preserve and hit the outskirts of town when something runs in front of his Jeep, making Stiles curse as he swerves hard, hitting the brakes with enough force to make the tires squeal and lose their grip on the road.

The last thing that Stiles sees is a tree coming straight at him, and then, it’s all black.

**-xXx-**

Consciousness comes in bits and pieces.

At one point, Stiles swears that he feels like he’s being carried, or maybe he’s floating, he isn’t sure— but all he knows is that his head is lolled back and the world is upside down and moving. 

The next time he opens his eyes, Stiles is aware enough to note it is when he’s being placed somewhere. Whatever is along his back is hard and cold, his flannel and shirt feeling damp after a little while. He may be on the ground, then. He isn’t sure.

Blurrily, he can make out the shifting colors and light of a fire, and from its illumination, Stiles can barely make out a few shadowy forms that cross in front of him. He can hear a little, but it’s muffled, a low ringing in his ears.

Maybe he has a concussion. Which, figures. The supernatural world usually mocks him for his fragile, human mortality.

Stiles lets out a haggard sigh, and his ribs ache a little from it. To the side, one of the shadowy figures notices that he is semi-awake, and mutters something that Stiles can’t understand. But even then, he doesn’t think it was English, or anything remotely human.

He gets a bit more confirmation whenever a scaly, bony hand touches his face, with talon-like nails than anything else. Stiles whimpers in protest, unable to really do anything else as his head is turned around, wordlessly surveyed as the creature above him leans in.

Despite whatever injuries he has, up close, Stiles can make whatever it is above him out. It looks like an old woman with long, silvery hair that has feathers braided in throughout it. Their lips move unnaturally around sharp, jagged teeth, yellowed by an undetermined amount of time. 

But, the starkest feature is their eyes, which are entirely black. The only contrast in them is whatever reflects off of their voids, which is Stiles himself— a bit bloodied, and already forming bruises around of his eyes and cheekbones. 

Stiles shivers lightly, groaning as fear begins to course through him. 

He vaguely remembers Lydia describing something like this in the Bestiary once, but the excerpt wasn’t entirely translated, and so Stiles is at a loss as the human-like creature above him smiles threateningly. 

It’s almost like it _knows_ that Stiles doesn’t have a clue as to what they are.

But before he can dwell on it for too long, the creature jerks its head towards another that crowds by the fire, clicking its tongue and hissing in a way that makes Stiles’ skin crawl. 

And then, just as suddenly, he’s being grabbed by the ankles and dragged, causing him to yell in shock as the creature handles him with abnormal speed. 

“Wait, no—” is all Stiles manages to get out, and before he can process it, there are two creatures working on him, trying his limbs to something that is now below him— something harder and even colder than before.

Stiles cries out as the binds are done tightly, pressing into the skin of his wrists and ankles enough to burn. The creatures seem to be gleeful at his shouts of distress and pain, and begin to chatter to one another again as they finish tying Stiles up.

The human’s head lolls, and he groans, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him as one of the creatures comes forward with what looks like a shiv fashioned from stone.

“No, no, no, no,” Stiles pants out, nearly hyperventilating as the rock presses sharply against the palm of his right hand, and then— “ _fuck!”_

The cut of the stone is sharp and concise, searing even more than his bindings as hot blood beings to well alongside his palm.

The creatures once again celebrate as the one with the shiv replaces the stone against Stiles’ palm with a small wooden bowl. It presses harshly against his cut, making Stiles gasp as he watches his own blood begin to ooze into the bowl.

Once it is filled, the creature carefully scuttles with the bowl in hand, and rushes over to what seems like a mantle made from weathered stone. It places the bowl with countless other things— wildflowers, bones, and other small bowls filled with powders and various liquids. 

Stiles’ stomach rolls on itself as he watches, the creature cackling out inhuman noises again, its voice low and crackly as it begins to mix every on the mantle, the other creatures joining in its unintelligible chanting.

The creature is just about to add Stiles’ blood when a roar erupts from the treeline.

And, without missing a beat, Stiles can’t help but scream.

“Derek!”

The creatures cry out— wailing broken sounds as they hold their hands out, their talons glinting from the light of the fire as Stiles begins to pull at his binds.

And then, Derek rushes in alongside the rest of the pack, who are all in beta form. Stiles can’t help but let out a haggard cry of relief, and he notices how Derek’s eyes search for him before anything else.

They have a brief second to look at one another before the alpha is then tearing into the creatures who captured Stiles.

The human doesn’t watch all of it. He can’t. He wasn’t kidding when he told Derek that he doesn’t like gore, as much as he can contradict himself at times. Besides, seeing his friends get injured doesn’t help, even if they do heal a few seconds afterwards. It makes no difference for Stiles.

So he keeps his eyes shut mainly, or he looks towards his wrist, seeing where some of the twine around his right hand is a bit loose. Stiles works at trying to free himself as he hears a crash, his head jerking up in reflex just in time to see Derek and one of the creatures tumble into where everything was placed on the rock mantel.

“Derek!”

The alpha gets up quickly, but Stiles can see the distinct, bleeding gashes that are stitching themselves up along his side as he roars once again, fangs bared and his reed eyes blazing with fury. The creature hisses back in response, cowering defensively, low and threatening, before it lashes out yet again.

The next thing to be heard is the snap of its neck.

Stiles is wide-eyed as he watches the creature fall, limp now and soon to grow cold. Derek looms above its body, growling and chest heaving as his side continues to heal itself, before he looks over to Stiles, and all the rage falls away.

Derek takes one step forward, his face already back to his human form, “Stiles,” he breathes out, right as he kicks the bowl that had contained Stiles’ blood into the fire.

The fire rages then, burning white hot in a large flume, and then, Stiles feels the world fall away.

**-xXx-**

Stiles wakes again, but not like before.

Instead of being in pain and in whatever mess he had been in with those creatures, Stiles finds himself waking up with soft sheets and pillow pressed into his face. 

Stiles groans, blinking and stretching a bit to get himself acclimated when—

When an arm stretches across his hip.

To Stiles’ credit, he doesn’t scream or yelp, he just stiffens, at a total loss as to whoever is apparently _cuddling_ him and yep, he’s freaking out a little right now.

Stiles’ breathing gets a little terse when the arm snakes around him a little more, and a nose buries itself into the nape of his neck.

And that’s of course when Stiles squeaks.

For a second, whoever is in bed with him takes a second to register what is up, and then, just like Stiles, there is a sudden moment of clarity as the other person is taken into account.

There is a thud opposite of Stiles, making the human squirm upright to turn and see—

See—

See Derek fucking Hale looking up at him from the floor beside what was— was _his_ side of the bed.

“Um,” Stiles starts eloquently, and Derek is just _staring_ at Stiles with the widest gaze he’s ever had and— “Oh my god, dude, you have _gray hairs!”_

Derek seems to get shaken out of whatever stupor he’s in and jumps up, quickly rounding the mattress in— wait… _only boxers,_ until he reaches the bathroom.

Stiles waits a minute, because he needs one to himself to wonder how in the fuck he ended up in a bed, cuddled up with Derek Hale— who was only in his underwear _ohmygod._

That, and he knows Derek. Derek needs his own space to process things, and then, when he’s ready—

The werewolf comes out of the bathroom, face unusually pale as Stiles once again takes in the initial starting strands of gray around his temples, and a few hairs of his beard. 

“I have gray hairs,” is what Derek says, but it’s almost reserved— distant, he isn’t looking at Stiles, but rather the carpet of whatever bedroom they’re in.

“Yeah, that’s what I told you,” Stiles murmurs, and out of reflex he goes to rub at his head when he feels something distinctly different once his hand reaches his scalp, “Wait— is there— do I not have a buzzcut?”

Derek seems to be reminded that Stiles is here with him, and he shakes his head, eyes still wide, making him almost look like a deer caught in headlights rather than a gruff werewolf.

Stiles jumps out of bed (which to some relief, he’s in a tee and boxers) and rushes into the bathroom, and he stops in front of the mirror to take his own reflection in.

“Holy shit!”

Stiles rubs at his eyes for a moment, and once the colors and pressure patterns fade from his eyes, he’s left with the same reflection as he saw before.

The biggest change for Stiles is his hair, which is grown out now compared to his usual buzzcut, and is now this wild, mop on his head that— well, that really works from him, actually. Stiles is kind of impressed, because he, well, dare he say it— he looks fucking _attractive_ now, and—

Older?

At first Stiles suspects it could be his new apparent hair length, but as looks on more and more, Stiles begins to notice other things.

The way he seems to be more grown into himself, the way his jaw is cut now without the usual little pocket of leftover baby fat he had there before. His eyes and mouth, and how he’s got _laugh_ lines that certainly weren’t there before.

But then, on his neck, there seems to be something else…

“What the fuck,” Stiles murmurs, and he kind of notices then that his voice is a bit deeper and more settled too, which is just… well, freaky.

There’s a clearing of a throat just as Stiles goes to touch the marking on his neck, and it makes Stiles jump and face Derek, who Stiles has forgotten is there with him. 

“Oh!” Stiles says with some amount of mortification and blush, but it seems that Derek is at least dressed to an extent— no longer bearing himself to world, but in a pair of boxers and a shirt, “I, um…” 

Derek remains silent, and Stiles takes the time to study the wolf as well, noticing the little changes with him. There’s a lot that is minutely different from what Stiles has come to know, and it begins to unsettle Stiles as he notices more and more that is new or changed about the werewolf.

“Derek, what the fuck is going on?”

For a second, Derek looks lost and like he’s struggling for an answer. But just as Derek opens his mouth to reply, there’s a rapid knocking on the bedroom door, and both Derek and Stiles look at it, only to glance at one another in confusion. 

They end up walking there together, Stiles behind Derek, as the alpha reaches for the knob, and yanks the door open.

Standing there is Lydia, who— what in the hell, Lyds is different too?

But more importantly, why is she holding a _baby?_

“You two need to stop having sex if you’re going to sleep in and forget that your kid wakes up at the crack of dawn. To think, you guys have waited years for this, but you’re more than ready to shove this onto me.”

And… what in the—

“Lydia,” Derek says, baritone low and serious, “can you tell me what the date is?”

Lydia raises a brow, but she begins to rattle the date off despite her annoyance, “It’s Friday, September 24th. Why? Did you want the weekend to yourselves too?”

That— that isn’t the date. Stiles is sure it isn’t. 

When he was with Derek in the shell of his house, it wasn’t even the _first_ of September yet.

But that’s when something starts to sink in— something crazy, almost unfathomable. And Stiles swallows harshly as each and every odd piece begins to fall into a very, very concerning pattern.

So, before Derek can say anything else, shakily, Stiles asks, “W-What year is it?”

Lydia huffs and adjusts the baby she’s holding in her arms, “It’s 2021. Now stop wasting my time and take care of— . . . Stiles? Stiles, are you alright?”

Stiles can feel it, his panic attack. 

He’s stiff now, breathing cut short and sharp as his knees suddenly give out from under him. But, before he can fall fully, Derek catches him, not looking that much better himself as they both process what Lydia just told them.

2021.

Fucking _ten years_ into the future.

Lydia doesn’t seem angry anymore as she takes Derek and Stiles in— in fact, she looks highly concerned as she watches Derek try and get Stiles’ breathing back under control.

“I’m—” Lydia starts, uncharacteristically at a loss for words as she seems to shake herself into action, “I’m going to give Mia to Kira, and then I’m going to come back and figure out what in the hell is going on with you two.”

Stiles watches her go, only waiting till she is out of sight to turn his head to look at Derek and hiss, “Who is _Kira?”_

Derek softly shrugs, unsure, but the placement of his hands isn’t so as he anchors Stiles back down.

Well, as best as he can, considering.

Stiles is still reeling when Lydia comes back, looking determined as she ties her hair up into a ponytail.

“Okay, Kira says she’s going to watch Mia for a bit, but you two owe her. Especially since you haven’t made up for last time.”

“Last time?” Stiles asks.

Lydia’s brows pinch, and the light grimace she has is far from happy, “You don’t remember?”

Stiles shakes his head, “I— I don’t, but—” Stiles looks to Derek again, “What about—”

“I don’t, either,” Derek says before Stiles can ask him, and he continues by adding, “The last thing I can recall is fighting those witches in the clearing to get you back, and the flames going crazy.” 

Stiles relaxes some then, “Okay… so… At least I’m not the only one out of the loop—”

“Did you say witches?” Lydia asks then as she cuts off Stiles.

Derek’s gaze shifts to Lydia, and he nods as he soothes one hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “Yes. They had kidnapped Stiles and were performing some sort of ritual when the pack and I attacked… But something happened, and now Stiles and I woke up here.”

“Here,” Stiles adds, “as in—”

“The future,” Lydia finishes with him, and she scowls so hard that Stiles feels his stomach sink a little as she murmurs, “How far in?”

Just as quietly, Stiles answers, “At least ten years… Give or take a weeks… It was August, from what I remember.”

Lydia curses, something that is rare and only saved for very serious moments. It only unnerves Stiles that much more as Lydia begins to pace lightly in thought.

Derek sticks with Stiles, his one hand still rubbing up and down Stiles’ arm as they wait on Lydia to figure things out. They’re all quiet, and Stiles kind of enjoys the fact that there are no more bombshells being dropped on them, at least, for the current moment. He ends up sharing a brief look at Derek, who’s frowning lightly as Lydia turns around yet again. Stiles ends up whimpering almost inaudibly, and Derek lets Stiles come close, his head leaning against the werewolf’s chest, to help him feel better.

“This isn’t good,” is what Lydia murmurs after a while, “I know that there’s at least some magic involved. Strong magic, at that, maybe dark in origin… But I don’t— there’s something off here. _Way_ off.”

Derek looks up from where he was focused on Stiles, “What do you mean?”

“The future you’re in, it’s in no way a bad one. I kind of like the fact I can say that the most that goes wrong here are Mia’s poopy diapers, and having to hear you two have sex occasionally,” and at that, the tips of Derek’s ears go fiery red, “But like I said, nothing nefarious. So, you guys either let the witches get the short end of the stick, or…”

“Or?” 

“Or you used the spell that the witches meant to cast for themselves.”

Stiles frowns then, “I don’t know if that is supposed to be good or bad.”

Lydia sighs, “There’s only one way to find out… I’m going to have to research this, and you two— well… I guess you need to learn about what this future is like.”

Which, yeah… that doesn’t sound daunting at all.

“I’m going to go tell pack what’s going on, so it’s a bit easier. Just— try and get yourselves as acclimated and level as possible. I’m not sure how much is different from your time, but it can be a lot.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah… Thank you, Lydia.”

She smiles, which, even ten years down the line, it’s just as brilliant as when they were teenagers, if not more now, “It’s the least I can do, considering.”

Stiles sends her a small smile in return, and he lets out a haggard breath once she leaves. 

Derek is quick to go and shut the door, and he levels his gaze with Stiles once it’s closed.

“So, uhm,” Stiles starts, because really— _what_ can he really say at this point, “how are you?”

“I don’t know,” Derek sighs, and he runs a hand through his changed hair as he goes to settle on the bed.

Stiles quickly stands then, and he fixes his shirt from where it got crumpled up on the floor. He stands there for a moment, fingers lingering on the fabric as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth in contemplation.

“We— we have a kid,” Stiles says, his voice surprisingly calm compared to how he was just a few moments ago, and he doesn’t have to be looking towards Derek to see that the werewolf is now looking at him, “A daughter. Mia.”

“Guess we adopted,” Derek says quietly, like there’s not much else to add, when—

“We’re together,” Stiles blurts, and Derek can’t look at Stiles this time, which the human can’t blame him— it’s so awkward right now, that the feeling is palpable between them, “In the future. You and I, we’re—… and we have a _kid._ ”

Derek’s hands tighten alongside the edge of the mattress — _their_ mattress, as they’ve come to know — and the duvet bunches inside of his fingers.

“I don’t remember any of it,” Stiles whispers, and he’s not sure what it is that is tinging his voice— something solemn and hollow, almost.

“We can’t remember something we haven’t lived,” is what Derek offers softly, and Stiles notice how his hands unclench the duvet then, “Our bodies may be different, but you and I are still the same as we were ten years ago.”

“Right,” Stiles nods, and he lets the hem of his shirt fall against his abdomen, “It’s just— that’s a lot of time to miss out on… And I don’t— I don’t have a single moment of it to hold onto.”

Derek sighs, “All we need to hold onto is the time before the witches kidnapped you and their spell went awry. We don’t know how long this will last— how long this future will be our present. Don’t—” Derek’s voice turns gruffer, and he refuses to glance in Stiles’ direction, “Don’t get attached.”

Stiles doesn’t reply, but he does nod in acknowledgement.

Because Stiles gets it. He understands why Derek is saying they shouldn’t be holding on to now — or then — like it’s something tangible for them. They’re not here because they lived the past ten years. And after all, and it can be undone just as quickly.

But that doesn’t mean that Stiles can’t look at this world around them, knowing what he does about it now, and not think… think that it just feels… _right,_ in some way.

“I’m— I’m going to take a shower,” Stiles states softly.

Derek acknowledges him with a light hum, but stays on the bed once Stiles leaves.

Steam bellows out of the shower after Stiles turns it on, and he looks at himself sternly in the mirror for a minute. Just until the fog makes his reflection blur.

It’s then that Stiles removes his shirt, and after he pulls it up over his head, he goes to pull down his boxers when something new stops him.

Tattoos.

There are tattoos of various designs sprawled across the expanse of Stiles’ torso, and he blinks at them for a moment, taking them in.

He runs a cautious finger over their designs, feeling where his skin is slightly raised from the ink embedded into it.

Since… since when did he get over his fear of needles to the point where he could get tattoos?

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and Stiles jolts then.

“Stiles?” Derek asks from the other side, muffled by the door and the sound of the shower running, “Your heartbeat… It’s accelerated… You okay?”

“Yeah, just— found something else that’s different.”

Derek makes a confused noise, but Stiles doesn’t elaborate.

He really just wants to go ahead and shower.

He’s guessing that Derek lets it be, because Stiles gets into the shower without any more knocks or questioning from the werewolf as the human grabs some soap.

Stiles is a little methodic, taking the body wash and suds himself up, watching as the dark ink contrasting against his pale skin loses itself among white lather. It’s almost like they aren’t there until Stiles washes the froth away.

With a sigh, Stiles starts to finish up, knowing that Derek may need the shower, and that he’ll have to face the music at some point. He does take his time washing his hair, though, because that is something wholly new to him with its new length.

It’s even odd having to towel it, but Stiles gets used to it fairly quickly, and steps out of the shower thinking nothing of it.

It’s only as he hears a sharp intake of breath that he remembers Derek.

And as Stiles takes in Derek’s eyes, which are stern and set along the barred expanse of his torso, that is when he remembers the other changes.

“Yeah, I’m inked now, apparently,” Stiles murmurs, and he doesn’t miss the way that Derek’s eyes track the one tattoo settled on his hipbone as the human shifts, “Have no idea why, though… I never wanted tattoos.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but after a moment, he does break his gaze away, and he quickly marches off into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Stiles sighs, but focuses on getting dressed instead.

He’s got bigger fish to fry than Derek, at the moment.

Stiles makes quick work of getting dressed once he figures out what drawer in the dresser is his, and which part of the closet is his section. It’s not too hard, especially when it seems like Derek is still rocking the washed-out Henley look ten years down the road.

“Some things never change, I guess,” Stiles says to himself with a small smirk.

Once dressed in a shirt and some jeans, Stiles is almost ready to go face what is waiting for him outside. He just needs—

But before he can finish the thought, the bathroom door opens, and Stiles is left to enjoy the view that is Derek Hale, shirtless, fresh from a shower.

Now, Stiles did get a view earlier, but, to his defense, he was a little shocked to find that Derek was in bed with him. 

Which leads to Stiles thinking about Derek, naked. In bed. 

All the while staring at Derek’s abs that are dripping with water, and—

Stiles forces himself to look away just as quickly as he looked over, his cheeks burning as he reminds himself that now is _not_ the time to be a horny teenager.

But, wait… he’s technically in his mid-twenties now, so does that make a difference?

“I can hear you thinking,” Derek murmurs, “You need to relax.”

Stiles lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, and nods, “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right… I’m just nervous, is all. There’s a lot that’s going on, and I’m a bit overwhelmed before I even get to thinking. I mean, Lyds mentioned someone named Kira, and we have no idea who that is! It just makes me wonder who else is out there that we don’t know, and then there’s _our kid_ Mia, even—”

A hand places itself on Stiles’ shoulder, making him jerk his head up to see Derek rounding his side, “You’re overwhelming yourself. Just try and take this one step at a time, and it’ll be easier to deal with.”

Stiles nods again, and bites his lower lip lightly.

Derek sends him a small smile before he goes back to getting dressed.

Stiles waits quietly for Derek to finish getting ready, and all the while, he’s staring at the bedroom door, knowing that there’s an entire life he has outside of it that he is not even familiar with.

Yeah, overwhelming doesn’t even begin to cover it, really.

A few moments later, Derek comes up behind Stiles, now dressed and seemingly ready to face this new reality ahead of them.

“Do you know how different it’s gonna be?” Stiles asks quietly.

At that, Derek shrugs, murmuring, “Only one way to find out.”

The werewolf comes up beside Stiles, and he’s a reassuring presence against Stiles’ side as they head out of their apparent bedroom, and brave their life outside of it.

Stiles is lightly trembling as they pass multiple bedroom doors down a long hallway, wondering how many of them are occupied. How many of them have people that he doesn’t know. Did know. Doesn’t now. 

Stiles glances at them as they pass by, swallowing thickly in his throat as his mind races.

Derek is solid beside Stiles, his expression carefully blank as his hand steadies Stiles from the small of the human’s back. Stiles already knows that Derek is using his senses to get a sneak peek at what has changed— who all is there, who isn’t. He can tell by the light pinching of Derek’s brow, the way his lips press together into a fine line as he concentrates and his nostrils flare subtly. 

“Sniff anything out yet?” Stiles jokes lightly.

Derek glances at Stiles from the side of his eye, a light frown working its way onto his face once Stiles offers him an anxious, jokey smile, “I don’t know… There’s— there’s a lot going on here. It’s all kind of jumbled.”

Well, at least Stiles has that to be grateful for— his nerves would probably have been shot even more if they already were if he could sense things like Derek, but were just as blind as him at this moment.

“There’s something more, though,” Derek murmurs, “I can’t place it…”

As they near what seems to be the kitchen, Stiles asks, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it right now,” Derek responds, but his voice is gruff— and more so than usual, his gaze hardened and almost spooked as his eyes dart about the room, “… I don’t think I really could.”

The hand on Stiles’ back is shaking lightly, and once Stiles notices it, out of reflex, he turns and grabs it with his own. Derek sends a light smile towards Stiles, but it’s pained— weighted, the grip of his hand almost too-tight as he holds on to Stiles’.

There is a large doorway leading into what seems like a living room as Stiles and Derek veer off of what once was their straight path, making Stiles squeeze Derek’s hand out of his own anxiousness as they come upon occupied loveseats and recliners.

Lydia is there holding what looks to be her print of her translation of the Bestiary, now a bit aged and worn, but the smile she sends Stiles is warm and so familiar that it helps Stiles feel a bit more at ease as he looks around to see all who is here to see him.

A bit more relief floods Stiles as he sees others that he knows.

Erica is there, alongside Boyd. They’re both cuddling on a couch, looking so much more mature already since they aren’t swapping spit constantly. Erica’s outfit is also less promiscuous as she had them in high school, which is also a nice change— don’t get Stiles wrong, he enjoys Erica’s company, but boobs in his face got old after a while, especially when he views Erica as like a weird sister of sorts. 

However, the biggest change nearly makes Stiles lose the air in his lungs. He sees their wedding bands on their fingers, ones that are woven together as they hold one another, the metal glinting off their skin. But Stiles steels himself, knowing that it was bound for it to happen sooner or later.

Beside them, there’s Isaac, alone and in one of the only singular seats offered in the living room. He’s still kind of puppyish, even after ten years, but he seems more reigned in and aware of himself instead of nervous. His jawline is a bit more pronounced, and his once mop of curls is a bit more resigned now with a crew cut that adorably curls at the top. Stiles, though, wants to huff a snort that Isaac’s preference to ridiculous scarves has not been addled one bit.

To Isaac’s left, on another couch, sits Scott and. . . Stiles doesn’t know the woman with him. But Scott is still smiling that crooked smile with that same, old crooked jawline of his, and if Stiles didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t have really thought they were shifted ten years into the future, sans a few changes. 

Scott doesn’t look like a goof now, but rather laid back. His outrageous near-bowl cut trimmed back to a cut similar to Isaac’s, but the front being styled into a way that reminds Stiles vaguely of Derek’s go-to look.

The person beside Stiles, he has no idea. She is smiling warmly at Stiles, and her long, brown hair and dimples are very reminiscent of Allison— which, it seems like Scotty has a type, since her hand is on top of Scott’s between them.

There’s also a few others present, and Stiles glances their way. There’s two guys — twins, by the looks of it — who are watching Stiles and Derek curiously. On the other side of the room, there’s another woman with wild, brunette hair, and she seems like she almost tumbled inside out of the woods last second to have this meeting. And finally, a guy with sharp blue eyes and an almost Prince Charming cut, but the air of nervousness around him is obvious, even to Stiles.

“So,” Lydia thankfully starts, and she gestures to everyone around the room, “this is the pack!”

Derek’s hand is tight around Stiles’ as his face remains blank, and the human sends a small, thin smile that is probably more awkward than friendly.

A few of their nameless pack members look concerned as Stiles’ gaze shifts over them, nothing but uncertainty and unfamiliarity, and Stiles hates how his skin lightly goosebumps as they realize he doesn’t recognize them at all.

“I’m Kira,” the woman beside Scott stands then, and she offers her hand out for both Stiles and Derek to shake, which Stiles does— Derek just kind of stares at it till Kira lets it fall away with a somber smile, “I’m a kitsune, or a werefox, and I joined your pack about seven-and-a-half years ago, after I was a transfer student at Beacon Hills High our junior year. Scott gave me my orientation around the school, and that was that!” she sends a small smile towards Scott, but quickly returns her position in front of Stiles and Derek, “Making a decision to be a part of your pack was the best decision I ever made.”

“Yeah, we’re awesome like that,” Stiles can’t help but saying, and he doesn’t miss the lick tick to Derek’s lips at that, “I’m sorry I don’t remember any of that—” and then, Stiles looks around to the others, “— any of this. I don’t mean to offend or upset anyone, Derek either. So, if you could, just try and fill us in whenever we draw blanks, yeah?”

Kira beams brightly, and even the nervous guy gives Stiles a light smile.

And so, the introductions continue.

“My name is Ethan—”

“And I’m Aiden,” the other finishes, “Don’t worry about getting us mixed up. We’ll let you know who’s who. Well, maybe after the first few times we have had a few laughs.”

The woman with wild hair comes up, and she simply nods her head once before frankly filling both Stiles and Derek in, “I’m Malia. I’m a were-coyote. You met me in the Eichen House during the summer before your senior year. You were fighting the Nogistune, then,” Stiles’ brows furrow as Malia directly looks at him then, and Stiles doesn’t know why— he doesn’t even know what a Nogitsune is, “I was there because a car crash in my childhood caused me to get stuck after I shifted. I lived in the woods for nearly a decade before I somehow was able to shift back. I’m not that good with human stuff, but I’m better than I was. Still, I may have some issues grasping things, especially when it comes to sarcasm.”

“So I should just not talk to ya then?” Stiles jests.

Malia scowls lightly, “But you’re talking to me now.”

Oh. She… she wasn’t kidding.

Stiles swallows, “Uh, yeah. You’re right. I’ll keep it curbed from now on.”

“Keep what curbed?”

Stiles sets a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and smiles with a laugh.

The nervous guy is the last to come up, and his blue eyes dart between Stiles and Derek as he anxiously approaches. He specifically eyes Derek the most, almost unsure if he should be getting so close.

He licks his lips as he casts his gaze to the floor, thumbs twiddling over one another as he visibly shows how he’s struggling to string his words together. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and he seems to be getting more and more flustered with each failed attempt.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

It’s the first thing Derek has said this entire time, and it makes the pack member before them grin softly, gaining confidence from the reassurance.

“M-My name is Liam. I became pack about three years ago… Derek asked me to join after he helped me whenever an omega bit me, because they were trying to become an alpha. I’ve gotten to stick around ever since, when Derek offered me a place in the pack, afterwards.”

Stiles smiles at that, and he glances over to Derek, who seems a little wide-eyed at his apparent generosity.

Maybe he doesn’t believe he could be capable of such kindness, but Stiles knows he is. After all, that’s why they had their pack in the first place.

Lydia smiles as Liam sends a quick nod Derek’s way before going back to his spot in the living room, and she come forward, “But, I feel like the most important pack member hasn’t properly been introduced yet.”

Stiles’ brow furrows, and that’s when Lydia gestures to them to follow her.

“She fell asleep after her morning bottle, so I had to put her down for a nap after the time travel discovery was made,” Lydia says as Stiles and Derek follow her, the rest of the pack tagging along behind the pair, “But don’t worry, when she’s up, she lets you know.”

They come to one of the doors Stiles and Derek passed earlier, and it’s got a few decorations on the door, including Mia, spelled out with pastel purple letters that shimmer with glitter.

It makes Stiles’ heart ache a little.

Lydia opens Mia’s nursery door, and Stiles sends a quick look Derek’s way. 

The alpha is staring ahead, and that almost-frantic look from before is back. It’s almost like Derek can’t believe that this is real— that _Mia_ is real.

Stiles tightens his hold on Derek’s hand for a second to show some support, and he doesn’t miss the way the alpha relaxes a little afterwards.

They both walk up to Mia’s crib together, and Stiles’ breathing is a little rough as he is able to see where their daughter is snoozing along comfortably. He can’t help but smile at her as she brushes her tiny fish against her plump cheek.

“You smiled at her like that when you got to bring her home,” Lydia murmurs, adding, “You were crying too, but we all were. The adoption process isn’t a short one, and she was definitely worth the wait.”

“How long did it take for us to get her?” Stiles asks quietly.

Lydia hums, “Years, at least. I don’t know when you two started to file for it, exactly. You just announced that you were adopting whenever Mia was on the way. I guess you didn’t want to say anything until something more concrete was going to happen.”

Beside Stiles, Derek is still as quiet as ever, but Stiles can see his free hand twitching a little as it rests along the rail of Mia’s crib.

“Do you—” Stiles finds himself saying, “Do you think we could hold her?”

Lydia smiles again, and Stiles moves out of her way a little so she can pick Mia up out of her crib, “She can be a bit grumpy when she wakes up with us, but she’s always happy to see you two.”

Both Stiles and Derek watch on as Lydia lifts their daughter out of her crib, and she turns towards them, raising a brow.

“Who wants to hold her first?”

Derek is already coming forward before Stiles has a chance, but he honestly doesn’t mind. He’s never really handled a kid before, let alone a baby that is far more fragile, so he somewhat studies Derek as he watches the alpha take their daughter into his arms.

It’s honestly a sight to behold, and Stiles’ heart swells a little as he sees Derek’s eyes, which are a bit watery as he stares down at Mia.

“Hey,” he murmurs, soft and quiet, and Stiles can feel his chest and throat tighten at the vulnerability he hears in the alpha’s voice, “It’s me. Your dad.”

And dear god— Stiles can’t process that.

The rest of the pack is obviously accustomed to this— they’ve had a good amount of time. Ten years overall, but a few extra in which Derek has taken to being a dad like a duck to water (which, with him being a werewolf, that saying is a bit odd for Stiles).

But, Stiles _isn’t_ used to this. He’s never seen Derek like this.

He’s used to Derek being somewhat cold and shut in, hurt and obviously untrusting more often than not. It seemed like the fire had burned up and destroyed whatever love and hope Derek had from before, and all that left alongside the husk of his former house, was the husk of the alpha himself.

So Stiles doesn’t know what to do — to think, to say — as he watches Derek sway Mia lightly in his arms, already smiling and looking like he’s on top of the world, like he was never hurt in the most inhuman of ways by a woman he thought he loved.

Like he was from this time, and Stiles was the odd one out.

It’s a strange feeling as Derek coddles Mia, already lightly cooing and telling her that she is beautiful and loved and Stiles swallows roughly, having to look away for a second as his stomach sinks down to his ankles.

Because… because if this future is already this perfect?

Stiles doesn’t think he can make himself leave.

**-xXx-**

“Mia’s back in her crib,” Derek murmurs sometime later, and they’re in their room again.

Stiles doesn’t reply, he just stares at the floor below his feet, not even looking up as he feels the mattress dip beside him.

“You didn’t hold her,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles sniffles then, and he feels a bit weird for being so torn up, but he just _is_ and he doesn’t—

“I’m scared I’ll get attached. I mean, isn’t that what you told me? Don’t get attached?”

Beside him, Derek is quiet again, but an arm works its way around Stiles’ shoulders, and the human can’t help but lean into Derek.

“I know what I said… I only meant it when it came to thinking we can stay. I know we can’t, you know we can’t. But, that doesn’t mean you need to block yourself off while we’re here. Especially with Mia… That wouldn’t be fair to her, because she can’t understand.”

Stiles rubs at his damp cheek, “I know… I just can’t help but look at her and know that she— she really isn’t ours… It just feels almost like an insult to injury. That this is so great and amazing, but it isn’t ours. Not really.”

“Well, it’s our future, right?”

“Ten years down the line, and even then, future’s change,” Stiles looks at Derek, who’s lightly frowning, “That’s the thing about time travel, your future is the only part of your life that you can really go to without fucking everything you’ve ever known up. But even then, the worst is that nothing is guaranteed.”

Derek shoots Stiles a confused look, so the human continues.

“Us being here, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. We could’ve altered our actual futures from our present just by being here,” and quietly, Stiles adds, “That’s what is bothering me the most about this… The simple fact that even trying to go forward from here after this could mean all of this is already lost…”

Derek pulls Stiles back in for a hug, and Stiles knows then— knows that Derek likes the idea of everyone not fighting, there being a resemblance of family again, that— that they’re happy together.

And suddenly, Stiles finds himself blurting, “W-What about us?”

Derek pulls back, looking confused, “What do you mean?”

“We’re _together_ in the future. And while I know that we get along better than the rest of the pack does with each other, I didn’t… I didn’t really see that ever happening, if that makes sense.”

Derek nods, silent for a moment before glancing at Stiles from the corner of his eye, “Do you want it to now?”

The question throws Stiles for a moment, and Derek looks away, cheeks heating before he whispers, “I… I don’t know…”

Derek doesn’t seem offended or off put by the answer. If anything, he seems to be understanding, nodding and humming almost inaudibly in thought.

And so, with some mock confidence, Stiles dares to ask, “What about you?”

The alpha is quiet, eyes staring hard at the carpeting below. Stiles is almost afraid, for a moment, that he has gone too far. Has asked something he shouldn’t have. 

After all, this— this is probably a lot for Derek. Not even just because of a time travel spell that puts them into a future they weren’t expecting. But because of so much else — so much _more_ — that this future offers. So much that Derek never thought he’d ever get again.

Stiles is about to apologize for the overstep when Derek beats him to the punch.

In a voice that is so quiet and broken, he answers.

“I think I’m already attached.”

Stiles’ heart aches at that, and so does his throat with the way it tightens as he swallows, leaning back onto the alpha.

“Me too.”

**-xXx-**

After their small talk, Stiles is feeling a bit better. About as best as he can with how he has no clue what he’s doing, especially with Mia in the picture.

Despite his initial refusal to interact with their — Stiles still can’t believe he’s able to say this — adopted daughter, Stiles took what Derek had into account. Even if they are a blast from the past at the moment, Mia has no way of understanding that her two dads aren’t who she knows them as. Keeping himself distant would only hurt Mia.

Sure. It would hurt him to not keep it. It’s going to hurt like hell, Stiles already knows. 

But honestly, Stiles knows it was going to either way.

“So, these witches,” Lydia asks, knocking Stiles out of his thoughts as she makes a bottle for Mia— leaving Stiles to coddle her against his chest with some amount of awkwardness, “You two mentioned that you stopped them while they were performing a ritual?”

Mia gurgles against her fist as Stiles gently rocks her in his arms, nodding, “Yeah. They kidnapped me for it. Honestly, I didn’t even know we had witches in town. Mainly our biggest problem was Scott and his lack of control or respect for Derek, so you could imagine my surprise after being forced off of the road and waking up afterwards in the woods.”

Lydia huffs in understanding, “Witches are anything but problematic. They must’ve been up to something awful if they had to kidnap you.”

“I mean, yeah, I didn’t appreciate the part when I slammed Roscoe into a tree, or after I woke up and was tied to some rock of sorts before they tried to stab me…”

At that, Lydia stops immediately, and looks at Stiles head on.

“They tied you to an altar and tried to sacrifice you?”

Mia even looks up at Stiles, cooing.

“Yeesh, Lyds. Sacrifice? I mean, they weren’t friendly for sure, but if they wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it outright. But they didn’t. And I don’t know if it was an altar, per say, but there was definitely some involved. It’s where they kept all these herbs and stuff.”

Lydia shakes Mia’s bottle with vigor a few times as she strides over with purpose, and she takes Mia away from Stiles, giving her the bottle before she does anything else.

“After she eats and lays down for her nap, we’re going to Deaton’s.”

“Wait— Deaton is still kickin’? Not like he was super old or anything, but— man. I thought he would’ve retired from the supernatural business or at the very least just be a vet with no unusual side projects—”

“Wow,” Lydia remarks, “You are literally _just_ like you were when you were fifteen.”

Stiles scoffs, “First, that sounds like an insult. And two, I am literally like I was when I was fifteen. Because I am fifteen. But, not physically. Derek’s the same too, except he’s twenty-five. Which, you wouldn’t think, with that salt n’ pepper going on. Which, can we please talk about how weird it is to see him with gray hairs?”

For a moment, Stiles thinks he’s going to be ridiculed by Lydia again for being his usual wordy self. But, instead, she smiles brightly, her cheeks dimpling.

“It really is strange. I still remember when he got his first one. You wouldn’t stop teasing him for weeks. Honestly, I think that alone gave him his second.”

And, despite the time gap, it’s the most at home that Stiles has felt since.

**-xXx-**

They go to Deaton’s with Derek in tow.

He doesn’t know about his gray hair discourse, which is a relief to Stiles. After all, he caught Derek eyeing himself in the mirror, contemplating tweezers before giving up. 

But, gray hairs are the least of their concerns.

Stiles can’t help it, but as Lydia drives them to the clinic, with both of them in the backseat, Stiles reaches over to Derek’s hand and grabs onto it. The reassuring squeeze he gets back settles his nerves some, and it only helps even further as Derek slips their hands back together as they head into the clinic.

Lydia notices, but thankfully doesn’t say anything. After all, the Derek and Stiles she knows did more than hold hands— so Stiles is grateful that there is no grief to go through from that, really.

“Deaton doesn’t do as much as he used to. Not because he isn’t able to help, he simply just don’t want to be involved. We made an agreement after the alpha pack that he would only be contacted if we had an emergency.”

Stiles sends a look to Derek, one that is confused at the mention of the alpha pack, but they continue on nonetheless.

Lydia leads Stiles and Derek into the back, where an empty set of cages reside. There’s a door leading to another room, and she motions for the two of them to wait.

Stiles watches on curiously as she goes inside, the door swinging after her departure as they are left standing outside. 

There’s a muffled conversation going on in the other room, and Stiles is sure that Derek can hear what’s going on. But the way that his face seems almost scrunched, Stiles is sure that he’s focusing in on the conversation.

“What are they saying?” Stiles whispers.

“They’re talking a little low, so it’s a bit hard to make out,” Derek murmurs back, pausing for a moment to listen before continuing, “But, Deaton’s asking why we’re here. He doesn’t sound happy.”

“Well, he can deal,” Stiles huffs, “It’s not like we’re showing up because we can’t solve today’s sudoku puzzle or change a diaper. I swear, ten years has only made him more of an ass.”

Derek nods in agreement before updating the human, “Lydia told him about the spell. She’s coming back to get us.”

And, sure enough, Lydia appears right on cue with a tense smile on her face, “It took a bit of convincing, but he’ll hear this out. Be quick though. And Derek, it’s best if you explain things.”

With some amount of hurt, Stiles says, “Why am I bared from talking?”

“Stiles, honey, I love you, but Deaton never liked your rambling. And if anything, these past ten years made him far more grating than anything else,” Stiles shoots Derek a knowing look of ‘I-called-it,’ “So, Derek does the talking. Otherwise I think Deaton would kick us out. But, enough delaying. He’s only giving us five minutes.”

Stiles murmurs something heated under his breath, and Derek snickers lightly as they enter the back room.

Seriously. What an ass.

“It’s always you lot that manages to find themselves in something you can’t get out of,” Deaton grouches as they come in, making Stiles hold back a glare for their sake— even though the man looks almost exactly the same, he definitely has only gotten more sour, “Lydia’s already informed me that some time travel and witches are at play, but I need to know more if you have any hope of getting back to where you need to go, so be quick with it.”

Derek clears his throat, and Stiles doesn’t appreciate the way that Deaton’s eyes narrow at him for the noise.

“We didn’t know about any witches in the area until Stiles was taken by them. They ran him off the road, made him crash his car. We had to follow his scent trail through the Preserve until we found the witches,” Stiles can feel Derek’s hand tightening around his own, alongside the gruffness to the alpha’s voice, “They had Stiles tied up against a large rock. It was painted or carved, so it had some purpose, but for what I don’t know. We interrupted whatever they had been doing, and it just turned into an outright brawl. So much happened, but the last clear thing I can remember was the fire going crazy, and then I woke up here with Stiles.”

Deaton hums, and he takes everything in for a moment before he turns to Stiles, “The witches— did they do anything to you?”

“Other than run me off the road and tie me to that rock, not much,” but Stiles quickly adds, “But they took some knife or something and made a cut on my hand. They collected the blood from it in some little bowl.”

Deaton’s eyes widen a bit, and he moves from where he was standing until he’s right up in Stiles’ space, making Derek rumble lowly warning.

Deaton is unfazed, however, and orders, “Show me which hand they cut into.”

Stiles sends a quick glance over to Derek, who settles very little, before Stiles separates their hands to show the man before them his palm.

With a harsh grip, Deaton holds Stiles’ hand by the wrist, and examines it thoroughly. He even flips it over a few times, before frowning harshly.

“Are you sure it was this hand?”

“Clear as day. There is no way that I don’t have a scar with how they cut it. It should be right here—. . .” Stiles looks down at the palm of his hand, noting how the skin is unmarked.

Which… wait… That— that isn’t right. . .

Deaton then turns to Lydia, not even giving Stiles any time to let his discovery sink in, “Do you ever remember there being any witch incident that is like what Derek or Stiles described?”

With a shake of her head, Lydia frowns lightly, “No. I don’t even think we ever encountered witches. But there was so much that happened within the past ten years. I may have forgotten.”

“You haven’t forgotten anything,” Deaton clarifies with a set tone to his voice.

Skeptically, Lydia asks, “And how do you know that?”

“Because there isn’t anything to remember.”

Derek and Lydia are shocked at what Stiles has said, but Deaton looks at the human knowingly, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Stiles, what are you saying?”

The human glances between both Lydia and Derek then, murmuring, “There isn’t anything to remember because the witches never happened. At least, here.”

“Here?” Derek looks at Stiles like he’s grown a second head, “Why are you saying here?”

“Because there isn’t a scar on my hand, Derek!” Stiles shouts, and he practically shoves the smooth palm into Derek’s face, “There isn’t anything! No hint that this witch thing ever happened!”

“That could be coincidental—”

Stiles brings his other hand up for inspection, and as Derek’s eyes go wide, it all begins to take shape.

“Lydia can’t remember the witches because we never dealt with them, Derek— we as in what we thought were us ten years down the road,” Stiles says lowly, and he makes a noise of disbelief before pressing his hands against his temples, “I can’t actually believe this is happening—”

“Stiles, if we aren’t in the future, if the ritual never happened here… then where—”

“An alternate universe.”

Derek and Lydia look pale as Stiles laughs hysterically at the words.

An alternate universe. How silly and cheesy. So much, it can’t be a thing.

It can’t be.

“We have to be sure that such a thing is what occurred,” Deaton goes on to say as Stiles feels like he’s beginning to hyperventilate instead of breathe, “There are some more conclusive methods and ways for us to know for certain, but it’s safe to go ahead and say that you two are from more than just a later time.”

“This can’t be fucking happening—” Stiles pants out, and beside him, Derek is a statue.

Lydia looks at a loss, either with helping Stiles or Derek, and it all just makes Deaton let out a haggard sigh.

“This is why I told you both not to come to me anymore.”

And Deaton better be grateful, because if Stiles had not been freaking out, he would’ve decked the guy right then and there. Derek, however, has come to his senses a bit more, and growls at the man in warning.

“Your little noises don’t scare me,” Deaton says, nonchalant, “and I suggest you keep them to yourself if you want my help with this.”

Lydia sends Derek a look, and the alpha backs down. Albeit, going by the harsh scowl that is contorting his face, Stiles knows it’s the last thing he wanted to do.

“So,” Lydia starts, and bless her heart for trying to ease the tension in the room, “If there’s no scar to be seen, and no witches to deal with, what are Stiles and Derek going to do?”

With tight smile, Deaton turns to Lydia, “Well, I’ll have to do some research before anything is conclusive. Whatever those witches did, it wasn’t just some regular spell. This is strong, old magic. We need to be careful about how we try and solve this, or else things can go very, very wrong.”

“And for Stiles and Derek— what do you want them to do?”

Deaton sighs, and looks over to the duo of misfits, “The best course of action for you two right now is to simply wait, and try and do your best to keep up.”

“So there’s nothing we can really do?” Derek grits out, “What about finding those witches—”

“They may not even exist here,” Deaton explains gruffly, his tone leaving no room for argument, “I will contact you both whenever I have more of an idea of what we’re dealing with. If you’re from another universe entirely instead of a different part of the same timeline, this will be very tricky to deal with. I know it isn’t the answer you want to hear, but it’s what you’re going to get for the moment.”

Derek’s eyes flash, and his lips purse for a moment. But whatever rebuttal or words he had die on his tongue, and the alpha slightly deflates before looking at Stiles, his gaze almost hollow.

“Let’s go.”

On shaky knees, Stiles follows Derek, and he quickly finds the alpha’s hand enclosing his own. 

It isn’t until they are out by Lydia’s car that Stiles lets out a noise— a broken, almost-whimper. Derek quickly brings Stiles in close, and they hold one another as the news sinks in.

Because the future? Stiles can deal with that. The future is just contained within a singular timeline— one that contains what he’s known and where he came from. It’s where his dad is. Scott is. Everything.

But an alternate universe?

It’s like insult to a grievous injury, and Stiles doesn’t know how he can cope with that.

Especially if they can’t go back.


End file.
